Freedom

There’s a new kind of freedom sweeping the streets, and he’s not quite sure what to think of it yet. He finds that this kind of freedom crawls on a person’s humanity and feeds off it like a parasite, and he doesn’t really want to know what the world looks like when every living thing in it is swept away.

He remembers a time when freedom was in the form of a mother who bestows knowledge to her child. He may not have liked it at times, but at least he learned from it.

Nowadays, even his own mother remains silent, and he wishes she would say something so he could know that she hasn’t become mute. He’s living the kind of life he likes, but for some reason, he finds that he can’t enjoy it anymore. All he can hear is the silence of the wooden figures in the corners of his house, or the words of the diviner’s rod. They are words he often clings to, because he believes that if he listens close enough, he’d find some semblance of hope that is sitting and waiting for him to discover.

He doesn’t know whether it’s true or not, but as long as he’s right, then it’s okay to believe in a lie.

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